


good time blues.

by billielurked



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, F/F, Fluff, Introspection, Lesbian Character, Romance, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billielurked/pseuds/billielurked
Summary: Sadie Adler hadn't had no place nor person to call home for near a decade. The road was long as it was lonely, and it gave an awful lot of time for her to get quite well acquainted with herself. Bounty hunting took her far, but it may just take her back somewhere she didn't figure she'd ever get to see again, and to someone she's been thinking about for much too long.
Relationships: Sadie Adler/Abigail Roberts Marston
Comments: 11
Kudos: 108





	good time blues.

_I been hangin' by a thread_  
_I been losin' what I had_  
_Now I'm startin' to believe  
That the good times are done for me_

_Don't let the sun catch you cryin'_  
_Well there ain't no use tonight_  
_That it's all coming down  
You could move to another town_

_But there's a girl in south Louisiana  
And she is always on my mind _

_As above, so below  
I don't know how I'm gonna go._

__

The dirt beneath Sadie Adler's boots was a brilliant red. 

Down in canyons like these, it was no news to see red stones, red hills, dirt and water and sky all tinted that vibrant color, sepia orange saturating the very air itself. She coughed. The dust storm had long passed, but she could still feel the thick cloud of it clogging her lungs, the inside of her mouth dry and eyes sore. These were no conditions to be out man-hunting in; she cursed Llewellyn for putting her in this position.

It wasn't every day she got on a first name basis with a Sheriff, seeing the lot of them as little more than receptacles for the foul types she dragged in to exchange for a week's cash. More often than not, it was them who made her life harder, rather than the criminals she rounded up for them. Llewelyn's saving grace was his tolerable lenience. 

She walked as she thought. By her side, Marian huffed, shoving her face insistently into her side. Sadie combed the horse's neck with her fingers as they went.

Being in the business of bounties as she was, Sadie had seen her fair share of mislabeled criminals. Those given the vague titles of _Murderer, Gambler, Liar, Cheat_ , or on some occasions _Deserter_ tended to be those who she, once she looked them in the eyes, knew she had no right to drag back to the scarce mercy of the law.

Older she got, the list of folks she felt she had no right to hunt just grew longer. 

It'd been about three bounties back when she'd begun to feel pushed too far. Standing over the trembling, hunched form of a Miss Margaret O'Malley, much too young to be alone and even more so to be hunted like an animal, who had been described to her as a _ruthless and bloodthirsty mankiller_. She looked at the fragile frame of her body, the terror in her eyes, and holstered her gun in an instant. 

It'd been Llewelyn who'd shown a surprising semblance of lenient apathy in regards to it. She'd stepped foot into his office the next day with a terrible sense of trepidation in her heart.

"Where's the girl?" He'd asked, scrubbing furiously at something on his boot, propped up precariously against the edge of his desk. 

"Gone," Sadie had replied, hands in her pockets. "Long gone."

"Hm." He'd glanced up at her then, quick and intense and gone just as fast. "Alright." 

And that was it. The poster was taken down within the day; she'd had another job in her hands within two. It was among the most goddamn unlikely things that happened to her over the years, but it brought her to wondering just how far she might be able to test this newfound tolerance. 

The next three bounties had varying results. One, she'd dragged back with his hands and mouth tied; judging by the things he'd called her, she knew immediately the stories about him were true. But the other two- a runaway prisoner who'd been locked up more years than he'd been free, and a thieving teenage boy without a mean bone in his body or a dollar to his name- simply were _gone, long gone_ , both given a little help in getting out of the way of anyone else who may come searching. Only one more to go.

Marian nibbled at her hand. She relented, pausing in her long walk to search the saddlebags for a snack to give her.

"Think we'll find her soon, Marian?" Sadie asked, rubbing her muzzle with one hand and holding out a handful of berries with the other. The horse, preoccupied, didn't even have the manners to whinny or snort in reply. 

"I know. Ain't supposed to be far from here, but that's what they always say, huh." 

The evening sun lowered over the horizon, stars glimmering through the dim curtain of blue; night came and Sadie rode on and on, north towards New Austin. 

> °

Now, Sadie hadn't planned on getting sidetracked. She had no business in the towns of regular folks, besides perhaps as a gun for hire or a working muscle around a farm- the latter, only so briefly as she could bear. She didn't usually linger long. Oh, she'd frequently return to places she'd had good business in, but she possessed little beyond what could fit in her saddlebags, and for many years had felt no itching desire to settle down. 

One night in a saloon couldn't hurt. She'd lost the lead, regardless, the trail gone cold after the rain. The town of Armadillo smelled like creosote. 

The years and all their violence had, in some ways, been good. She liked the sweet adrenaline of a shot struck home, a good knuckle to the face, relished in the _rush_ and high that pursued brutality. It was the easiest damn thing she'd ever done. Cheap, easy, direct; and it paid well. A little funny sometimes to think she was now often the wielder of aggression, the one behind the gun rather than the one on the ground- she preferred to think up excuses and defenses against her own doubts, when the road got long and her train of thought got the better of her. 

It didn't sit quite right, seeing oneself in a similar position to those that ruined your life _. I hunt the ones that hurt people_ , she reprimanded herself, _I'm better than them_. She didn't know when she'd gotten so good at lying, but it certainly came in handy. 

She wondered how Arthur had lived with it for so long; with all these troubles. Charles, too, or John. Any of them, really.

They'd written for a while, her and Charles. He'd found some peace. Built another house. He must have lived well enough; Canada sounded awful pretty. Then time had gone by, as it does tend to do, and a combination of her lack of address and lack of things to say ended in the letters slowly dwindling. It'd been the same with Tilly, who had once sent her pressed flowers, all her cards signed with the little paint-handprints of her children. 

"What'll you have?" 

"A bourbon," Sadie slid a coin across the bar, "double." 

The bartender stooped for the glass. Sadie looked over the crowd within the saloon. From her left, a woman came and leant against the bar. 

"Make that two, if you don't mind."

"You askin' me or him?" Sadie asked, gesturing between them. He didn't even look up. 

"Whatever takes." the woman replied, her expression playing at a smile. 

"Hm." Sadie begrudgingly slid a bit more cash across the bar. "You'll least oblige me with some conversation if I'm sharin' and all, won't you?"

"Sure." 

"Sadie Adler." Sadie tipped her hat, then setting it on her lap. 

"Mary Tsai."

"Nice to meet you."

"You don't know that yet." 

"I might not look it, but I've been told I've got good intuition."

"If you had to be told, it can't be _that_ good."

She actually snorted aloud at that one, grinning into her glass as she threw it back. 

“I don’t see many ladies like you come through these parts.” She gave her a good look up and down, surely taking in all of Sadie’s filthy cowboy glory, clad in her heavy boots and belt, coat hung on the back of the chair. 

“Might be attributed to that… simply ain’t many ladies like me.”

“I only said _these_ parts,” Mary shrugged. “You might be surprised.”

“I’ll keep a lookout.”

They shared an amicable silence for a moment, then, each simply staring off into the bar in thought before Sadie remembered why she was even here. She cleared her throat.

"You'll have to forgive my seriousness for a minute, but I do have a question I'm itchin' to ask."

"Go on."

"You know a lady by the name of Nicola Hale?"

Mary inspected her own hands, brows knit tight as she thought. She shook her head. "Don't think I've ever met a Nicola."

"She's supposedly real tall. Dark hair, probably tied back; should've got a gun on her." 

That made Mary pause. She unfolded her hands from her lap, gesturing as she spoke; "I did see this one lady, she had this wide-brimmed hat. Was tall, and quiet. Pretty."

"When?"

"Couldn't have been more than a day ago. She gambled for a bit." 

"She had a gun?"

"I knew she did, under her coat. She was all stiff, and seemed ready to bolt." 

"Huh."

"You could ask some of those men over there," Mary pointed towards the table of gambling, beardy fellows, "but all I know is she left and rode out North. It was still _dark_ out."

"That's mighty helpful, Miss Tsai, thank you."

"Ah… so you _do_ have some manners." Mary smiled, sipping quickly from her bourbon. "You're very welcome." 

“What do you do, then, if my manners’ll excuse the intrusion?”

“I work here.” Mary paused, rubbing her hands together. “I clean. I keep the rooms neat, make beds, all’a that. Take the money home to my Ma.”

“Good old honest livin’, then.”

“Sure is. Borin’, too.” Mary looked at her then like she was the most interesting soul in the room, her stare attentive and direct. "I'm guessin' you couldn't relate." 

Sadie laughed. "Nah, couldn't."

"You the law?"

"I look like the law?"

"I don't know. Never seen a woman with a badge, suppose." She tapped her chest where a Sheriff's badge might be, emphasizing. 

She leant back heavily into her seat. "Ain't nothin' more than a hired gun, myself. No lawman in his right mind'd take on a woman to deputize, but allbedamned if they don't pay well 'nough long as I get out once the bad guy's all locked up." 

"Bad guys, you say," Mary smiled, leaning her cheek on one hand. "You've brought in a lot of bounties, then?" 

"Enough." Sadie replied simply, struggling to suppress her grin. "

"So this Nicola, you're after her."

"Yup."

"It's almost a shame, such a pretty thing windin' up in a cage. What's she done to deserve it?"

"More than'll fit on a _Wanted_ poster, that's for certain. Horse-thievin', bootleggin', possibly husband-killin'... supposedly ran with a gang down south for some time, did negotiations for them, smuggled supplies." Sadie frowned, turning her face away for a moment as she thought. 

"Sounds like a good conversationalist." 

She raised her brow, nodding. "I bet." 

Mary sighed, glancing warily at the bartender as he tended the tables. "Much as I've enjoyed talking, I'd better get back to work."

"No worries, Miss Tsai, you go on."

"Good luck, Miss Adler." 

With a pat to her shoulder, she was off. Back up the stairs and away into the hotel floor of the saloon, presumably; Sadie wondered what luck she'd had to meet a kind face, out here in the desert a mile between _absolutely nothing_ and _not much_. 

Having finished with her drink and tired of the lack of company, Sadie made for the restroom, if only to avoid the crowd of beer-sodden trophy hunters who'd begun to clutter the bar in a hectic crowd of noise. The saloon bathroom was filthy. Broken bottle shards and lint piled up in the corner; the wood of the stalls behind her was rotted and moist with mold. It was that strange time between seasons, right when the humid stink of summer melted into the black, frigid expanse of October. A trapped bee buzzed, catching her eye. She watched it knock into the window and fall to the sill. It twitched.

Sadie thought on all her options. She could head out now, in the sheet of rain that poured down from above, go hunting that lead- but that wouldn’t do her horse any good, nor would it her. Her patience was wearing thin, but she'd just have to make due. The clamor of noise from the saloon didn't help much to persuade her to stay, but neither did the thunder and rain outside entice her enough to leave it. It could wait til morning. She felt wary, the door swinging and groaning on its hinges behind her. Each footstep heavy, she inched closer to the bathroom mirror.

Her reflection was unclear. It's a funny process, self-reflection, self-acknowledgement. Sadie's never been very good at it, she didn't think, and moved to the left and then slowly to the right as if expecting her reflection to do something different. Always felt like a bit of a foreigner to herself, only capable of recognizing her own flaws or talents when filtered through another person's perception of her. It made things easier. Less room for self blame when all truths about yourself come off the tongue of another. 

The woman’s hands slowly raised to touch her own face. Much had changed over the years; her clothes were heavy in a different way, now, all leather and belt and bangle. Her footwear had gone from one brand of uncomfortable to another, though the practicality of the men's boots was undeniable, and all pretense of _feminine wiles is_ long gone from her self expression. She'd chopped off her braid what felt like _years_ ago but in truth must only have been months, judging by the still choppy, shortly shaved sides of her head. 

She ran her fingertips along the slope of her nose, down over her mouth. Would any of her old friends even recognize her, if they saw her? Or would they only see a brutish bounty hunter? 

Sadie said nothing, and turned to leave. 

> °

The bath wasn’t half as hot as she liked it; still, steam rose idly off the surface, soothing her typical stiff posture. She scrubbed idly at her hair with the lye soap.

It made her think of Abigail Roberts, funny enough. Mary-beth, too, Karen, dear Tilly- but most of all, Abigail. Back when they'd shared their days, when Sadie was in no state to keep herself clean and kempt, it was her that helped her. Her that held her hair and combed through the knots that wound their way into it, and her who gently touched her face and said _come on, darlin, let's get you cleaned up_. Sadie had been too hollowed out at the time to really respond, or to realize the excess of kindness she'd been showed. How undeserved it was. 

She missed her more than she remembered her, she figured. Time bends and distorts people in funny ways. They get nicer, or meaner, they have different teeth or hair or even smell, in reality, less strongly of the scent with which you so powerfully associate them. 

Sadie thought, then, about how she missed her once-husband Jake so terribly that the one time he'd gone away, for _days_ she took deep, throaty inhales against mugs of coffee and open forest air, convinced this was reminiscent of him. And when he came back she stuck her face against his chest and he only smelled like coal and sweat and cigarette smoke. 

She scrubbed a little harder.

It’d been much too long since she’d last had a nice, warm bed to stay in, with clean sheets, a roof over her head, all the baubles and bangles of a normal life. A warm bath, even, was hard to come by, particularly as the weather shifted into something much colder and the icy cold river was more threat than relief. 

Sadie couldn't figure why she thought so hard on things lately. Being a big brute lacking in brains but for tracking and hunting made life a hell of a lot easier; that's the conclusion she'd come to, after years spent tearing herself apart over what she couldn't control. Men had made a game of her, toying over and over again with the frayed ends of her patience and her kindness. Both senses had long since thinned. 

Stepping out of the bath with great care, she went through the mechanical process of getting dressed. She washed her face, and took her shirt off the drying rack, slinging it loosely about her shoulders.

The face in the hotel mirror was rough and exhausted. If there ever need be physical evidence of all her years of hard work, the best piece would be the wrinkled corners of her eyes and the dark bags beneath them. Her face altogether was more strong and stern, masculine in nature, besides perhaps for the thick brush of her lashes. There was a fat scar over the bridge of her nose, so deep that it left a tangible dent if she ran her finger over it. It was almost funny now to think back on how she'd once tended to herself and her appearance with such great care. 

Sometimes she wanted to be blank and beautiful, the type of woman on powder and perfume advertisements, who didn't stink or cry or flinch from touch, the kind of barren blank slate upon which any love or preconceptions of personality could easily be projected by anyone else. Anyone else but her. 

Maybe that wasn't entirely true. It wasn't that she desired to go back to dresses and rouge and powders- she didn't- but rather that, frankly, she missed giving a shit. 

Taking one last glare at herself and throwing down the coins owed for the bath, she moved to pack up and leave.

> °

The water on the river rushed by much faster than she'd anticipated.

It was nigh midday and she'd been riding since the light blue of dawn, Marian glad to be back on the road after a good night of rest. There were finches soaring in the sky overhead, too small to be worth hunting. A roadrunner flitted across the opposing bank, likewise tiny. She kept chewing on the cornbread she'd pocketed from her hotel breakfast, staring at the water in mild frustration. 

"Well, Marian, looks like you're gettin' another bath."

The horse shook her face free of a fly. 

"Won't be none too relaxin'."

She seemed fine with the prospect.

And then- having just convinced herself to cross, she saw it. This figure, poised and waiting at the edge of the woods across the river, just far enough for its features to be indistinguishable and just close enough for her to know it was real. 

She stayed still. 

The thing, the person, there on the other shore did not wave, did not smile- or at least she wasn't close enough to make out a smile, or really to make out anything at all besides the silhouette. There was a vagueness, a feeling similar to that of peering into the light of the sun. So tempting, but like you shouldn't look. Like it might hurt. They stared at one another for what felt like minutes.

Sadie's heart slowly began to pound, chest tightening. She tried to rationalize it. Tried to take the fear and box it up, locking it up somewhere deep within herself, making excuses for the cold sweat on the back of her neck and for the tingle of her palms. 

It may have been a journeyer led astray, just as scared of her as she was of them; maybe someone from town, a lawman, someone harmless. A trick of the eyes, the miscasting of a shadow. A tree bent a funny way. She had the thought to go out and call out to it, but instantly a dark feeling came over her. What would she do if it replied? 

Something to her left rustled, scuttling by in the underbrush. Marian twitched, and Sadie did too, eyes flying to whatever may have come so close. The trees along the shoreline were dense on both sides, brush and plants growing over the edge of the river, hanging down to mingle among the rich, green moss that floated below. 

She scanned her surroundings for the source-

Nothing. There was nothing. 

Upon quickly looking over at the other side of the river where the silhouette had been, there was nothing to be seen. Whatever had been there was gone, and Sadie was left alone to linger on her bafflement. 

The river ran on. 

> °

It didn't take long to find Nicola Hale.

She didn't come to her as a specter, some silhouette staring upon her in the distance. It was much simpler- almost disappointingly easy, the process following the same pattern most her bounties did. 

She found traces of a camp left behind not far off from where she'd been heading; tracks, then, and the uncarved remains of a hunted coyote carcass, rotting by the wayside.

Most thought criminals to be either immensely clever or scattered and unpredictable. Sadie knew better. Any hunted man who managed to flee was usually just blessed by luck, chance, or something so simple as a dumbass bounty hunter on his tail. 

Nicola wasn't dim. Wasn't slow or silly, wasn't erratic, and she may even have been clever, but in the end it did little to save her. 

Likewise, Sadie was well attuned to the experience of hunting and being hunted by another human being. She might've been just a bit clever, and unfortunately, a bit erratic. She knew what the dead smelled like. She knew how gunshots sounded right up close to your head. 

Didn't make it any less shocking, though. 

_Crack_ went the bullet as it snapped past her head, barely scraping the brim of her hat. 

"Damn!" She cried out, ducking her head against Marian's neck as she dodged another bullet. The shots rang out over the emptiness of the desert, clanging and echoing in the air; Nicola turned and rode faster, her horse heaving with the effort, suddenly more focused on fleeing than fighting. 

Marian huffed as she was spurred on more forcefully. The air stank of gunsmoke; Sadie fumbled with one hand for the lasso hooked to her saddle, her other preoccupied trying to aim with her handgun. 

Nicola rode wild and fast, flying over barrel cacti and steep grooves where rivers had dug indents after rain, hoofprints marking the previously untouched red dirt. 

Rocks and pebbles went flying when they both skidded down an incline, trying to urge their equally distressed horses down at an angle as best they could without tipping over into the rubble. 

And then it all stopped. 

Sadie's lasso tightened around Nicola's middle, tugging the woman forcefully off the back of her horse and dragging her into the dirt. 

The animal ran off to a safe distance, releasing panicked cries and whinnies as it ran circles about them. 

Nicola coughed. 

Her face was caked with dirt, her belt twisted around the waist of her dress. Small rocks had cut into the skin of her face, one deep groove marking her cheek where she must have slammed into the sleek stones that covered the earth here. There were tiny cactus needles covering the surface of her forearm and the untorn scraps of fabric there; her hands were bound to her front and side, respectively, pulled tight by the rough rope. She didn't try to writhe or wriggle her way free, only shuffling to distance herself from the nearby hazardous sharp rocks and vicious plants. Her breaths came out in hard, heavy pants. 

She squinted up at Sadie, baring her teeth in a grimace. "Got me."

"Sure did." 

"Got me good." She gave her bindings a firm tug. 

Sadie dismounted, slowly sidling over to the woman on the ground, being sure to keep the rope taut. "I won't say no to no compliments, but you should know they ain't gonna get you nothin'." 

Nicola Hale didn't say a word, simply huffing when Sadie turned her over to hogtie her. She left the ankles a bit loose, for mercy's sake, knowing no sane person would go running off into desert country with their hands bound. She took her gun and the knives she'd had holstered on her belt.

"We can do this chatty, or all professional like. Or you can do a little wrigglin' and cursin', it gets old, but I don't mind. Up to you." Sadie snorted, pulling the woman up and clucking at Marian to come closer. 

"Bit limited." Was all Nicola had to say, before being heaved up and over the hind of the horse, back rim of the saddle pressed up against her waist.

"I do apologize for the inconvenience, your highness." 

They didn't speak any more, then, Sadie riding closer to her horse, clucking and cooing to entice him to follow. The animal bucked his head and whinnied defiantly, but after some convincing, relented.

The two horses and their riders went along their quiet way for quite some time. 

A fat mother quail sprinted across the path, pursued by her hurried parade of toddling babies. 

An owl hooted from it's nest. 

Usually, there was some sense of fulfilment which followed a successful bounty caught. Money in the hand was the finest reward, but the hunt was half the rush; glancing back at the bound, silent woman, Sadie found she didn't feel much at all. Her wrist hurt from tugging so firmly on that lasso. Exhaustion settled into the slumped line of her shoulders. That was about it.

This bounty wasn't like the others- she didn't try to fight, to persuade, or to threaten her. For a husband-killer and a notorious gang affiliated money launderer and smuggler, this reaction was incredibly mild. 

"Your horse got a name?"

"He does."

"You gonna tell me it?"

"No."

It was almost funny, the way folks in binding on their last ride to the gallows still found these little ways to be defiant. Sadie nodded.

"That's alright. This here's Marian. She'll treat you just fine long as you don't move round too much; girl doesn't tolerate restlessness."

Nicola didn't reply. 

Sadie pulled Marian to an abrupt stop. 

At a distance of what couldn't have been more than fifty feet stood the silhouette. Up and away, still and unmoving, it blocked the path. That shadow, the strange spectre that she'd seen was back again.

Sadie couldn't fathom it. She'd caught the damn woman; any paranoia or concern she'd possessed should now be well past gone. Old news. 

As frightening as it was to imagine what the thing might be if it consisted of flesh and blood-- the idea that it might've been an internal experience, all made up, was worse. You couldn't kill or flee from what you couldn't shoot. So was it real?

There was one quick way to find out. 

She pointed out across the distance to the black silhouette which stood there, so still and tall. "Do you see that?"

Nicola took a long few seconds to answer, so long, in fact, that Sadie glanced back to check she'd even looked. She did, genuinely taking a hard look the direction Sadie had pointed, her face scrunched in concentration. 

"Nothing but the desert."

"That figure." Sadie paused, then, more insistent. "The person, look, by that third saguaro to the left of the mountain. It's so tall, how-" 

She stopped mid-sentence, glancing frantically back up only to see, herself, nothing, nothing but the emptiness of the land. 

Nicola didn't reply. Sadie, though she wouldn't have admitted it, was relieved by the lack of response. She rubbed at her face with her free hand, her gaze now nervously flicking back and forth in all directions as she slowly spurred Marian back into a steady trot. 

What the hell was the figure? Was she just losing her grip? Her vision? 

"Are you taking me all the way back south?" Nicola asked, and it was a reasonable enough question considering the immense distance they'd have to cross. Sadie wondered what madness struck her to drive her so far for one bounty. What was the use? 

"No," she said, trying to infuse her tone with the casual indifference of someone with better things to be doing, "I'll be leavin' you in Armadillo. They got a deal with some the near sheriff's, transportin' y'all between departments. Makes it easier, huntin' bad folk like yourself."

"Bad folk." 

Sadie spat her tobacco. Silence. Was that a question? "Sure."

"I'm 'bad folk'?" 

"Sure are."

Again- _silence_. 

The air felt cold. Night was not far off.

> °

"Get up," said Nicola. 

Sadie squinted against the offensive onslaught of the sun, her tent flap having been tugged open by none other than her current prisoner. 

"Hell…" Sadie replied, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she moved to sit up. Taking a better look at the other woman, she scowled, taking note that she'd shimmied her bound wrists beneath her legs to now rest at her front. The ropes looked frayed, her wrists reddened by friction. She'd spent the night rather busy. Sadie was almost disappointed it hadn't worked. 

She made no comment, simply dragging herself up to her feet, pulling on her trench coat to ward off the morning chill, and pushing gruffly past Nicola as she trudged outside. 

A flock of birds flew far overhead; the sun was out and bright as ever, but the persistent chill of nighttime still clung to the air. The meagre fire she'd built the night before was now too weak to do much beyond smoulder, the ash losing its redness by the minute. 

"You found somethin' to eat yet?" Sadie asked. 

"No."

"Alright. Hold on, have a seat." 

The fire took some convincing, but it gradually came back to life, spitting and sparking against the metal of her transportable frying pan. The thing was old and beat to hell but all be damned if it didn't serve its purpose just fine. 

The cured, dried meats she kept wrapped and preserved in her bag sizzled when they hit the oil, bringing to mind memories of a thousand past breakfasts. Meagre as it might've been, food was food. She was sure the imprisoned bounty target wouldn't turn her down. 

Handing her a plate, Sadie nodded to her. "You eaten much lately?"

"What?"

"Looked like you was lackin' in supplies."

Nicola paused, trying to navigate holding the plate with her hands bound. "Not much. I know some tricks, but only some." 

"Tricks?"

"How to survive in the Sonoran."

"Mm. Tough work." 

Nicola quietly savored the breakfast, looking off into nothingness for a time. 

She turned abruptly, then, staring right at her. "Why do you do this?"

"This?"

"Hunt people."

"Hunt bounties."

"Yes, hunt people."

Sadie wrinkled her nose, turning her gaze to her half-empty plate. "It pays."

"And.."

"And?"

"That can't be it."

"That's it."

"So you go far out into nothingness… to places people don't even live anymore… and you find people and you hunt them, and you tie them up, and you bring them back. And you get paid, and you do it again." 

She hadn't expected the woman to say more than four words at a time, much less that those words might implicate her troubled sense of morality with such succinct directness. 

"..Yup." 

"Every day."

"Well-" Sadie thunked her plate down on her leg, any sensation of hunger now chased off by frustration. "Not every day." A lie. "It's work that ain't behind a needle and a thread nor milkin' no cow." 

"There's work other than that which needs to be done."

"By fellas, sure." 

"No," Nicola paused, pointing, "by anyone." 

"I can see how well that turned out for you."

"If there were less of _you_ , there would be more chances for those like me." 

Sadie roughly wiped at her face, sighing. She stuffed the final bite of meat into her mouth, then turning pointedly towards the other woman, making clear her willingness to listen. "Fine. C'mon, pick me apart then, why don't you."

"You see things that aren't there, out in the desert, in the nothing." 

"I don't." Sadie shook her head. "That was- yesterday- I just thought I saw somethin'.",

"Yes."

This woman had some goddamn chutzpah to be testing her with such persistence, but she couldn't deny that it really might be having a bit of an impact on her. 

"People belong with other people," Nicola said with great emphasis, "not hunting or serving them." 

It was a simple enough statement, but something about it still made her stomach clench. She didn't know what to say. She cleared her throat. 

"What would you end up doin', Miss Hale, were I to let you go."

"Ride far away, and find people. Try again." She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, shrugging and maneuvering the last few bites of her breakfast with the plate held close up to her mouth. 

Sadie's frustration broke the moment, her impatience driving her forward in Nicolas direction with her knife drawn. 

The woman reared back at the sight of it. 

"Ain't gon' hurt you, just lemme get the damn bindin's off you so you can eat." 

The two women didn't speak for a moment, Sadie avoiding her shocked gaze. 

Putting out the fire and scraping off her plate, Sadie stood up straight. Nicola seemed to collect herself, and kept eating, then handing the plate over to her. 

"If you want to let me go I'll need my gun and my knife. Otherwise you might as well just hang me yourself." 

"Hm." She pointed to the other horse; her things were still in his saddlebags.

"You won't see me again." 

"I sure hope I won't." 

"You--" 

Sadie turned on her heel, holding her hat up by the brim in order to look the woman in the eyes. "Don't say thank you, or goodbye, or none of that." 

"I'm not sure I was planning to."

"I'm just a stranger that made a mistake. You go on. And head elsewhere than you was headin' before; had me hot on your trail." 

"I'll be more careful."

"Do." 

And that was that; the woman mounted her horse and, without even a momentary glance back over her shoulder, rode off and away. 

> °

Two days later, Sadie crouched by her campfire, the back of one spur digging into her thigh. The fish on the spit turned slow in her hand, glistening in the heat. Marian slept close by. 

Hunting wasn’t her strong-suit. She could do it just well enough to get by- she liked the shooting, seeing as she had developed a rather skillful sense of aim over the years, but the dressing of the animal, fishing, the actual tracking- she could do it, most certainly, but she took little enjoyment in it. Felt like just another chore. 

After leaving Beecher’s Hope alongside Charles, she’d spent about two weeks with the man. In that span of time he’d quickly taught her the tools of the trade, just as she taught him her own tidbits of knowledge. It’d been nice, having someone to learn from who didn’t condescend, or treat you like a fool for not already knowing. It wasn’t like she’d had anyone else to teach her. Her Daddy hadn’t been one for hunting. They’d been city folk, more than anything. 

She took a glance about herself, at the horse, the great wilderness, and the fire she’d built on her own. Looking back on her life, which felt much longer than it could possibly have been, she realized just how distanced she had become from that girl she'd once been.

Her mother had been a tailor, lost early to sickness. Her father lived longer, running his family’s mill. She knew he liked the taste of dark chocolate most of all and that she lost her very favorite hat in a river at age ten. All she really had left of them was one photograph in which she, her own face too young to be familiar, stood wearing that wide brim hat, between her mother and father. 

Her father was tall, poised elegantly against one wall with both sleeves rolled to the elbow. Her unremarkably dressed mother slumped beneath some unseen weight, pressed to his side, smiling dimly through the visible blur of exhaustion. Whoever she was, Sadie did not want to become her. 

She remembered the rickety building they'd lived in, with leaky pipes that would groan and grumble all through the night and convince her she lived in a house infested by ghosts. There'd been a little horse figure on the shelf, a mezuzah by the front door, and a bird shaped clock in the sitting room, which was where Sadie did most her sleeping as there was no room in the place to do so elsewhere. 

How frustrating it was, knowing to this day which floorboards creaked when stepped on, but struggling to recall how it really was to talk to one's own parents. 

There were so many things that her grief had blocked out from her memory. Gaps in time, big as the night sky and twice as black.

Sadie hissed; she’d gotten just a bit too close to burning the meat, too caught up in her own thoughts to be paying a lick of attention. The fish sizzled as it hit the tin plate she kept lodged in her shoulder bag. 

As she ate, she took in her surroundings.

The emptiness went on forever. Stretching out ahead of her was only the vast expanse of the desert, cooled by night and tinted blue by the dim light of the moon. Owls nestled into the flesh of saguaros, cocooned in the shells of their nests, their eyes flashing in the light when they peeked out. There was no breeze in the air, the palo verde all so still they seemed to be made of stone. 

The fish was a bit dry, only lightly salted; she should’ve picked up more supplies when she was in town.

Something rustled nearby.

Her head snapped up. Again, there was that noise; that sense of being followed, watched, plotted on. Besides for herself and Marian, Sadie had thought them to be alone out here, in the shadow of the rocky Mesa that soared overhead behind her. 

It seemed they’d had no such luck.

She scanned the expanse before her with great effort, squinting into the darkness to make out whatever it may have been. Setting her plate aside, her hand moved to rest on the gun at her hip. 

The air felt electric with tension, as though anything might spring out and maul her at the drop of a nail. 

There it was.

Dark and tall, now more distorted than the other times, stood the figure. It was too far to make out, at least two stone throws away, it's back seemingly turned to her. The moon shone against it, but there was no reflection. There was just the sensation of being watched, being looked through. Her hands tingled. She slowly set aside the gun, and turned her back to the distant shadow, forcing herself to sit and look instead at the smouldering fire. 

What did it mean?

Trying to ease her own distress, Sadie wiped away the tears that had begun to stream down her cheeks. She had the unfortunate tendency to shed tears when truly afraid, and it never really did her much good. She sniffled, pressing her face into her hands. 

She thought about what Nicola Hale had said to her, hands bound, over that shared meal. _People belong with other people_ …

Maybe she had a point, and maybe, just maybe, it was a good one, and the kind of advice which Sadie should just suck it up and take for once in her aimless life. 

Almost 42 years now, she'd been alive. Didn't think she'd get so far. A few times, she nearly didn't. 

Sometimes, she wondered if it was worth it to have come this far. This far, only to be like this; herself, alone in the desert with a horse, haunted by figures that aren't really there, not a debt or a bounty to her name but no worth neither, not really. Nothing binding. Nowhere to go back to. 

Thinking long and hard about it, she came to the conclusion that most places among other folk hadn't been good to her yet. From overcrowded city buildings full of poor tenants, with walls that stank of rot, to come down settler towns in the West with nothing to their name but blood and some shabby saloons- there wasn't much for her to go back _to_. Sadie wasn't about to bow her head and work in some saloon, or make her due on her knees scrubbing the floors of some folk who paid her even less respect than they did money. Trying to live among men, to live decent and clean was almost harder than just rejecting it all. At least it was a standard which she herself struggled to live up to. 

Then, the thought came to mind; _Beecher's Hope_. 

It was the last place she'd been that she'd been shown any genuine hospitality, warmth, or familial welcome. The Marston's ranch may have been the one place on Earth where more than one person at once knew her name, much less knew her well enough to miss her. She hadn't seen John in what felt like an eternity, and in her mind's eye Jack was still no more than knee high to a grasshopper. 

And Abigail Roberts- well, Marston, now- she hadn't seen that woman in much too long. The mere idea of paying her a visit filled Sadie with the kind of adrenaline which even a good bounty chase couldn't arouse in her anymore. She'd felt dull and bland as of late. It would do her some good to see a friendly face again, the kind who really knew her. 

She made up her mind; she'd ride out to Beecher's Hope by sun-up, ready for anything. 

> °

Three days later she stood at the edge of the Marston's property, the setting sun tinting the sky a dark, rosy pink. 

The ranch was just a bit of a mess. The cows were scattered about the property and the water was running low; the barn sorely needed a new paint job, peeling in desperation. The fence posts stood at crooked angles. 

Sadie imagined herself as a more chivalrous being, then, someone more romantic and enchanting; she imagined herself like the friendly ghost of the ranch, never seen but actions always felt. Painting the barn, fixing up the fence after sundown, caring for the animals as the sun rose and walking off solemnly just before Abigail stepped foot out onto her porch, wrapped in her knitting to ward off the morning chill, a yawn on her lips cut short by the abrupt realization that everything was more lovely than she left it. What a feeling that would be. 

She wouldn't be so bad at it, really.

The domestic life had suited her a very long time ago. With Jake, it had come easily. She learned to farm. Became self-sufficient. She renamed herself, left her parents behind, and forgot what once was. It was so easy.

She liked their quaint, rustic home. Liked her house-shoes and garden and the little bells she hung from the window-sills. She had plans to invite friends to stay, to go to town when the weather allowed, to have folks over for lunch- Sadie once planned to exist like a human does, among the population. What a strange notion. What a strange woman, who she really didn't know anymore. 

On the way in, she had seen the headstones up on the hill. Didn't quite have the guts to go look for herself, just yet.

She squared her shoulders, sucking in one long, deep breath and began walking towards the house. 

It'd been too long since she'd come through these parts- so long now that she hadn't a clue what'd become of John or Abigail, even Charles or Uncle. 

After dusting off her boots on the porch, Sadie moved towards the door, knocking twice. 

"Who is it?" Yelled a muffled voice from within the house.

"Sadie, ma'am, Sadie Adler." 

There was a pause followed by the sound of a hurried shuffle. The door flung open to a flustered looking Abigail Roberts, shotgun in hand, pointed to the floor. 

Sadie shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

Abigail looked miserable. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes, and her initial expression was something between frenzied and apathetic, if that was possible. She looked- well, she looked a right mess, everything about her in disarray. Sadie's heart ached to see it. She knew what had happened before the had to be told.

"Mrs. Marston," she began, but was interrupted by the other woman brusquely pulling her into an embrace. 

She froze in place, stiff, until Abigail squeezed tighter. Her hand moved slowly to settle at the curve of her waist.The shotgun clinked against her knee. 

Abigail jerked back, wide-eyed, never taking the free hand from her shoulder. "Never a day in my life did I think I'd be so lucky as to see _you_ again, Miss Adler."

Lost for words and a bit overwhelmed by the excess attention, she respectfully pulled her hat off her head and held it against her chest. Abigail let go of her, then, gesturing insistently that she step inside the house. 

"Come on, now, don't be a stranger. Come on in." 

Humbly, she accepted the offer, dusting off her boots and hanging up her hat on the rack once she walked inside.

With abject awe, Sadie admired the inside of the house. Though it was dark outside and thus only dimly lit by the light of the handful of candles sitting about the room and the crackling fireplace, there was a warm, welcoming feeling to it. 

The whole space felt far more luxurious than she'd recalled it being, back when it was still something of a work in progress. Her standards of luxury may have been distorted by several years spent on sparse bedrolls in the Mojave, but regardless, Sadie was impressed. 

Along the shelves were frames and bottles, little charms and baubles, all evidence of a house long lived in and well loved. The walls were draped with pretty curtains and little framed paintings, the floor of the living area covered in a thick carpet. The kitchen table was barren, but held the little nicks and cuts of a surface often used. There were even a few books strewn about, though she didn't take the time to note which ones. 

Turning on her heel, Sadie whistled. "Golly, Mrs. Marston, you've made yourself a right fine home here. How long's it been, now?"

"Since you was last here or since the house was built?"

"The house."

Abigail fretted, trying to quickly tidy up the stray books and bowls and such that sat about. "Oh, some years now. Enough for it to feel like home, at least."

"It's lovely." Sadie gestured to her. "There's no need to make it prim'n proper for my sake. Don't you worry."

"I- well." She sniffed, setting down the book she'd had in hand.

"Where's your boy?"

"Jack's in his room," she replied, "readin', I'm sure, or workin' on his ship."

"His ship? Awful small space for carpentry." 

Abigail snorted. "No, no, go on and knock, he'll show you." 

"Alright, Mrs. Marston, but you've got to promise me a nice long sit down and some good conversation once I'm back."

"I'll throw in a hot cup of coffee, on the house."

"I'd be much obliged." 

"Just no runnin' off."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

> °

Sadie took a long, deep breath; she'd always loved the smell of coffee, much as the taste might be a bit bitter. 

"Your boy," she started, smiling brightly, leant with one arm against the frame of the doorway, ankles crossed. "Such a sweet kid."

"Most of the time, yes." Abigail chuckled, digging around in her cabinets for a second tin mug.

"I didn't know he'd been inclined to writing. And that little model ship? Well, golly, never seen somethin' so small with so much detail to it."

"It's amazing, isn't it? Tried to offer to help him paint the sides, other night, he wouldn't have it. Had to do it just right."

"It looked like he'd done a mighty fine job."

"Usually does." Abigail triumphantly pulled the cup she'd been searching for from a lower cupboard, holding it in the air. "He tell you 'bout any of his writin'?" 

"Not much, not really. Mentioned he does it, nothin' more."

"Well I'm thinkin' besides for ranch work and all the boy ought to be a writer. He'd be good at it, you know, I've never been a- never been quite so good at readin' but what I've heard, what he's read to me- such a sweet thing, he does read to me- it's all been good. Very good."

"What's he write about?" 

"Oh," Abigail swayed her head to and fro, pouring the coffee into the respective cups, "much anything that comes to mind. Family dramas, and, you know, while ago he got his hands on this book with Roman and Greek history- and he's taken to writin' 'bout the Gods and all their..goin' ons."

"Good for him. Ought to pursue it. Not everyone can paint a good picture, either with words or drawin'."

Sadie gratefully took the cup of steaming coffee offered to her, moving to sit across from Abigail at the little wooden table. 

"He did try drawin' for a bit. I think-" Abigail's face sobered for a moment- "think he wanted to be a little more like his Uncle Arthur. Weren't for him, though, drew better'n I ever could but it's _words_ where he shines most." 

She nodded, sipping her coffee quietly. 

"I'm glad for him." 

A moment passed in comfortable silence. 

"What have you been spending your time on as of late, Miss Marston?"

"Oh, nothing too interestin'. Just been takin' care of Jack, workin' on the ranch, all that. Had to get good at carin' for the animals, bit of a learning curve- but it's no trouble now."

"Well aren't you quite the rancher yourself, then." 

Abigail smiled in that big, toothy way she did, and Sadie realized she never noticed the small gap in her front teeth, or the way her dimples deepened so far. She leant forward like she was expecting something. "Oh, you hush. You tell me- what've _you_ been doing?"

Sadie chuckled, not quite sure of what to say. _Wringing bad folks neck_ s, she thought, and a procession of nooses snapped on various said throats as she sifted through her months for something a little less awful to share with her. 

There wasn't much, disappointingly, not much at all. She figured the truth was a cheap stand-in for adventure stories, but it'd have to do.

She settled more comfortably into her chair, opening her arms in a grand gesture to start her story. 

"All started 'bout two weeks ago…" 

> °

Sometimes Sadie resented the division of the gang. She'd come in resenting them for even existing, for daring be human and alive within her line of sight, but that had changed quickly.

The crumbling of that strange little family dynamic she'd only just begun to settle into was unfortunate, to say the least, and a little bit crushing, when she was feeling more honest. She'd had friends, once, friends there amongst them who were good and loyal, who loved and talked and shared their food and their thoughts with her. 

The abrupt and jarring loss of Tilly, of Mary-Beth and dear, sweet, funny Karen, of Charles and by God, the loss of Arthur- it was simply too much to think about for too long, lest she fall ill to that old grief. Sadie figured she'd only really been robbed twice in her life, and that was the second. 

Though their little patchwork life together had been imperfect, she'd noticed just how that great emptiness within her seemed to recede once she began to connect with other people. It made things easier, and made the world seem like a less frightening place, sparse in monsters and full of potential. 

It'd been Abigail who had encouraged that growth and change most of all. 

It was important for her to acknowledge how shallowly she'd known her. How foolishly, how one-sided; to think Abigail could patch up all her sorrows and that alone made them the best of friends. 

Sadie didn't really blame herself for it- she'd been grieving the murder of her late husband and the loss of her _home_ \- but occasionally, she wondered if she should. 

Thinking back on the rosy, nostalgic memories she had of their interactions, she wondered if she had been too inattentive, or self-absorbed to be a friend to her in return. That was something she'd sorely like to change, having been given this second chance.

She got to work right away.

Two days had passed here on the ranch, Sadie keeping herself busy fixing the peeling paint on the barn and house, putting down new shingles where some had crumbled or slipped off, straightening and repairing weak or crooked sections of the fence, tending to the feeding and care of the livestock- she even tried to do her fair share of work in the house, caught red-handed trying to scrub off the dishes until Abigail chided her for overworking herself. Sadie was nothing if not diligent and inclined towards hard work. 

Sitting around doing nothing, even as a guest, made her feel nothing but burdensome. The way she saw it, if she didn't pitch in where she could then what was her visit if not an intrusion? 

She even played games with Jack once or twice. Tried to get him to go fish with her, but both ended up admitting just how much they loathed it by the time they stood dutifully by the shoreline, supplies all in hand. Tried getting him to read her some of his short stories, too, but he'd insisted on only sharing one, the others supposedly not good enough for the eyes of others just yet. He was a talented child, with a keen understanding of people and the troubles which afflicted them. Was very good at conveying that through his writing. She admired the way Abigail had raised him. 

Of course, her constant contributions to the ranch seemed to have Abigail in a bit of a tizzy, somewhere between bristling under the perceived pity or sighing in relieved gratitude. She'd constantly come out with a steaming cup of some beverage or another, keeping her company through conversation and a little help as she worked. And although she'd clearly been trying to hide it, Sadie had seen her starting on a knit scarf, which must have been for her judging by the way Abigail had scrambled to hide it. 

She was a bit flustered to think of what she might say once she gifted it to her. 

The woman was evidently unused to having a moment to rest with no lingering concerns or issues troubling her as she did so. Sadie thought back on the days they'd all sat about the camp, scarcely doing a thing some days but the tedious routine of laundry, cooking, cleaning, and at times tending to the horses. 

She had more pressing issues to think about. Focusing on the task at hand, Sadie pushed aside her idle train of thought and dipped her brush in the can of paint, applying it to the siding of the house with the utmost care. She'd never been an artist, but she liked to do things right.

Having spent so much time elbow to elbow, Sadie had done her best to keep her entertained, regaling her with stories of the south, of the revolution, of all the bright ideas and wild passing moments she'd experienced in her long time spent away.

"Still hard at work, I see." 

Sadie twitched, scrambling not to drop the brush.

"Woah there-! Didn't mean to scare you, sorry-"

"No, no, you're fine. You're fine." 

Abigail smiled from ear to ear, her face flushed in the chilly air. "Miss Adler, I do hate to break you from your reverie but it's nigh sundown. You'd best put that away and come on inside."

Looking lamentingly at the unfinished job, Sadie hesitated. "But.."

"No, you come on," she urged, gently prying the brush from her hand. "Come on now."

Finally she relented. Nodding, Sadie moved to put away her supplies to the side of the porch for further work tomorrow; she'd get up with the sun and do the job right, by the light of day. Would look better that way. 

Once it was all packed up and put away, she turned to lean against the bannister, staring out at the night. "Would you look at the moon." 

It hung low in the sky, orange and close as ever. Abigail moved to stand beside her. "Wow."

Sadie spat her tobacco on the dirt. 

It was a nasty habit, nasty in a way she'd rather not be in Abigail's company. But Abigail didn't seem to notice or, at the very least, had the manners or experience to remain unfazed. She glanced over at her from the corner of her eye.

How many years had she spent by Marston's side watching him kill and spit and curse without even a passing moments concern for his wife's opinion of it all? Looking at the way Abigail slumped just slightly inwards on herself, her posture defensive, withdrawn- too long, she thought. It must've been too long. 

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure you can." 

“John.”

Abigail visibly tensed, turning her face away. “What about him.”

“What happened, Abigail?”

Much too quickly she replied, "Got shot."

Sadie had figured he'd been off, doing bounties or who knows what- dealing with business and the like. The shock of it was a bit of a slap to the face. "Oh."

"I told him. Told him so many times, if he didn't.."

"Who did it?"

“They shot both him and Uncle, shot John. One of them Pinkertons, _Edgar Ross._ ” She was quiet for a moment, white-hot anger flickering over her face. “Out by the barn like a dog.” 

Sadie couldn't fathom how both she and Jack could keep the loss to themselves like that, never speaking a word of it. "I'm mighty sorry to hear that."

Sadie knew how that felt. Knew the distinct, sharp pain, that kind of loss which couldn't easily be softened by words, no matter how kind they may be. Looking at Abigail, she could tell the worst of it must have passed. Or maybe this was just how Abigail held her pain, locked up within herself in the privacy of her own mind. Unlike Sadie, who had the tendency to hang it to the wind, crying out for anyone to hear her suffering.

Abigail seemed to get restless, discomforted by the quiet. 

What strange ways grief made one behave. It could skin you and shame you and hang you out to dry for all the world to see, or it'd leave you all closed up and hidden, like if you spoke even a word of what tormented you it might come out and consume those who got too close. 

"I miss him, sometimes," Abigail said, and looked almost embarrassed to say it, a little ashamed.

"I know you do." Sadie stared into the sky. "You've got a right to." 

"Sometimes I don't."

Sadie shrugged. "That's alright too."

"Is it?" Abigail asked, then, and looked at her with the most sorry, sad face she'd seen in an awful long time. 

Sadie had spent months flayed open by her sadness, lashing out in anger at every being who even looked at her too long. But there was nothing she'd wanted more than recognition, _attention_ ; it was Abigail who gave her the most attentive focus, in the end, Abigail who told her- _the bravery's in the living_. She'd given her little in response but callous words lamenting the unfairness of it all. 

She reached out and covered Abigail's hand with her own. She deserved attention, too. "Your pain's yours, Abi. Don't nobody but you got a say in what hurts'n what doesn't, nor have you got anythin' to be shamed of."

She didn't look convinced. "I guess..."

"You took damn good care of both him and your son. Weren't a day you didn't worry yourself into a hole tryin' to make things better."

"I wasn't always a real good wife to him."

"Was John always a real good husband?"

"..No. In the end, he did a good job. But not always."

"Well, then. Any wrong you might've done, you're even. Did the man have a lick of anger against you when it all ended?" 

"None, I don't figure. We were alright, before.."

"Then that's it. You're long forgiven for any shame you might be draggin' about with you, Abi, darlin'. And it's alright if it weighs on you some days but on least some of 'em you've got to have the clarity to see you ain't done nothin' wrong. Those days are the ones that'll get you through the worst of it." 

"I hope so."

"Me too."

Abigail turned her hand upwards to wind her fingers between Sadie's, giving it a firm squeeze, and her, a sincere nod. 

The world felt a little smaller in that moment; a little more manageable.

> °

"Did you love Jake?"

Sadie glanced up in surprise. 

"What?"

Sadie set down her paintbrush, turning to face Abigail where she sat.

"Oh, that was- I didn't mean I don't believe you did, or nothin', I'm not tryin' to be rude, just.."

"How do you mean, Abigail?" 

She took a deep breath, collecting herself. "I mean as in.. you know, I cared for John. I loved him. Sometimes. Goodness, makes me sound like an awful woman, doesn't it, but I'm only being honest, it just- I feel like my life should have been different. Or could've been, if he'd…if he'd just.." 

"If he'd what?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's me. Maybe I should've been different." 

Sadie glanced at the wall, the wet paint drying at a frustratingly slow rate. Glanced at the space beside her on the bench. Might as well sit.

"I don't know what to say to that."

"You ain't gotta say nothin'. I started on a real bad note, I hope you know I meant no offense."

"You're fine." Sitting with her legs wide, elbows propped up on her knees, she squinted out on the horizon. Jack was sitting up on the hill, back against the tree, reading. "I think I loved how he cared for me. Loved how safe I was. Liked his company, and felt...comfortable. Like nothin'was gonna go wrong."

"Why'd you marry him?" Abigail asked, with less shame in her tone this time.

She didn't know what to say to that, because she wasn't quite sure of the answer herself. She scratched her head. "I, uh… I didn't grow up none too happy. Weren't a terrible upbringing, no, I had food and a bed and nobody laid a hand on me. Not much else, though. Security. Little in the ways of comfort."

"Oh."

"I think once you're grown there's this.. there was this idea that you've got to be on your way, chart your own course, all that. That you ain't gonna find no emotion or passion or safety or none if you ain't got a ring on your finger."

She nodded. "Why Jake?"

"He was nice. Really, I know, it's silly, but I swear he was the nicest man I'd met. I knew he'd let me do as I pleased, go and be who I wanted to. Wouldn't confine me or nothin'. Wouldn't see me like a possession. We was the best of friends for an awful long time." 

The sun was rising high in the sky, the light of early morning coloring everything with a soft blue tint. Fog clouded the air, the mild chill making clouds of Sadie's breath. 

"He was so good. You know those people who, you meet 'em and you just think, how can they be so nice? Patient and nice. They're a rare breed." 

"Sure are."

"Suppose that's my answer. I'd seen myself goin' elsewhere in my life once, when I was younger. I'd had other plans. Who hasn't, though? Ain't that normal?"

Abigail just nodded, sniffing against the cold air.

She hesitated. "When I was a little girl, I didn't think I'd wanna live with no man." 

No reply. 

"Thought… thought maybe I'd be better off just me on my own. Or, with a friend, you know."

The expression on her face was difficult to read, but Abigail gave her a long, serious look. "I do." 

"Another lady. I'd- now, I hope this don't change your opinion of me, Miss Marston, 'cause that's one thing I'd hate to lose, but, I've always liked the company of women. Felt safe with 'em. Understood. Would've liked to keep to that, if life'd allowed me."

"It's allowed," Abigail abruptly replied, "ain't no soul in the world who can stop you, Miss Adler." 

Sadie paused. "I'm not so sure." 

"..It doesn't, so you know."

"Huh?"

"Doesn't change my opinion of you. I knew."

"Oh." She huffed, a bit shocked. "How?"

Abigail shifted in place, brushing a stray hair from her face as she thought about it. "I share the sentiment. I've been with plenty of fellas in my time too, but there were- there were some girls, too, some real hard to forget."

"I see."

"Not hard to recognize somethin' in somebody else when you feel it yourself." She glanced down. "And the way you stomp around in them boots…" 

Abigail glanced pointedly at her rather filthy, enormous boots. Sadie burst into laughter. " _Really_!" 

The two of them stood on the porch by sunrise, laughing hard, trying to shake off the tremors of anxiousness. It was hard, admitting things about yourself. Admitting it to a good friend made it less so. 

Sadie couldn't help it; giddy, flustered excitement clouded her better judgement and she put a hand on Abigail's wrist, smiling wide as ever. "Please, seein' as I've just bared my soul'n all to you, just call me Sadie." 

"Alright, Sadie." She laid her hand atop hers, smiling. "That's Abigail to you, then."

> °

Five days she'd been living as a guest at the ranch on Beecher's Hope, dedicated and dutiful as any hired hand might be. She sorely hoped she wasn't overstaying her welcome. 

"Why haven't you got any hired hands on, Abigail?" Sadie asked, setting down the newspaper she'd been mostly skimming. 

"Oh," she replied, "we had one for a bit, name was Tom Henries but he had to move on for another post. Paid a little better. We've gotten by alright, just me and Jack. We was plannin' to try and find another hire next time we head into town for supplies." 

"I getcha."

"Do you want bacon with your eggs?" She asked, and there was something so _domestic_ to the scene that Sadie blinked and paused, heart clenched tightly in her chest. 

"I'd like that, thank you."

"Sure." 

The sound of the meat sizzling in the griddle filled the kitchen, Sadie inhaling deeply as she sipped her mug of coffee. It had been so long since she had last been living Like this- comfortable, in a little house, surrounded by the idle pleasures of domestic life. Jack was off somewhere on the ranch playing with that new dog of his, Mississippi was her name, and the sound of their commotion could be heard from where she sat. 

Very quickly, however, she was tempted to help. Standing with a grunt, she pushed the chair out and moved to stand, laying a gentle hand against Abigail's waist to make room.

"Let me help you with that. You're always doin' the cookin', go on, sit down."

"Sadie!"

"Please. It's no trouble."

"Mhmn…" Abigail grumbled, unsure, moving to sit stiffly at the table. 

"Who you think cooked best, back in the day?"

"Of the gang?"

"Yeah."

"Oh…." She folded her arms over one another, thinking. "Pearson was fine. Reliable. Lacked a bit of…"

"Flavor?"

"That's it. Never got sick by his cookin', though."

"I actually think Javier was pretty good. He didn't cook much but boy, when he did-"

"I can see that! You know what's funny? _Trelawney-_ I know, of all folks- had an awful knack for desserts. You ever tried that little, oh, what'd he call it.. them truffles he made? The little cakes?" 

"You know what, I did. Good stuff."

"And, the woman was too lazy to actually get 'round to it more often than not but Karen could make one mean bowl of grits."

"Plain?"

"Most of the time. Sometimes with cheese if we had the luxury. Tasted far from plain, though."

"Sad I didn't ask nobody for no secret recipes of theirs." Sadie flipped the bacon. "Charles wasn't so bad a cook himself."

"You can say that again."

"He had a real sense for gettin' things just right, all effortless and such. And I never saw him measure a damn thing neither; just went for it, and it always came out perfect." 

"You talked to him lately, Sadie?"

She shook her head.

"He sent a letter, while back. Come to think of it I really ought to get my crap together and write him back, but- well, anyways. You hear? He met somebody, I guess."

"Oh?"

"Nice fella up north. Far north. Where it's real cold and they don't hardly get no mail service."

"I remember he mentioned that. What you mean by met somebody?"

"Suppose they're to be livin' together in some time. He sounded- well, he sounded almost a little overwhelmed talkin' 'bout it."

" _Charles_?"

"He may be a reliable, steady fella but he's no social butterfly, you've got to admit! He seems sad, too. Just a little."

Sadie nodded. She knew what she meant. How he felt. 

"Ever since Arthur's passed.. its been different. Just different. And I think he misses Tilly, she hasn't been writing to nobody for fear of safety and all, it's entirely respectable but I see why he might be a little forlorn 'bout it."

"I remember, they was good friends." 

"Sure was."

Sadie glanced back at Abigail, who was staring at the wall. "I'm glad he's settlin' into a life for himself, though. He's a good man. He's earned it."

"I agree." 

Sadie silently prayed she wasn't being too bold when she replied, "I'm startin' to think maybe we both earned it too." 

"I'm not so sure about myself. I've got all I need here, besides, and I've just.. I can't help feel that I've squandered it, just a bit. 

"Squandered? You ain't squandered shit." Sadie slid the eggs and bacon off into their individual plates, pulling the chair back with her heel as she set both down before them. She sighed. "Once, long time ago, you told me I was the bravest woman you ever known." Abigail looked fit to interrupt, so she held up a hand. "I think it's high time you knew I think the same of you."

“Now, that ain’t.. That simply ain’t warranted. I haven’t done nothin’.”

“Will you quit that?” Sadie asked, shaking her fork.

“Quit _what_?” 

“Behavin’ like you ain’t worth a damn. That ain’t the Abigail Roberts I know and- I know you’re tough as nails and twice as proud. That’s a good thing, a real good thing, you hear me.” She put down her utensils, resting her chin against the upturned palms of her hands. “Come on now. Tell me all you’ve done on this farm, in your life.” 

“I don’t see the reason in it.”

“I don’t care. C’mon. What’ve you done to get here?”

Abigail turned her face away for a moment, scratching at the back of her head as she thought. Her expression was all twisted up, like it was the most frustrating thing in the world to come up with an answer. 

“I cook.”

“Mhmm.”

“Not real good.”

“I know.”

Abigail seemed to lighten up just a bit at that, swatting lightly at Sadie. “I took care of Jack on my own. He’s a good boy, now, gonna be a good man.”

Sadie nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“I didn’t have no good parents to look over me in my younger years. I worked hard, and the work wasn’t nice, but I got by. Chose my own way, and ran with the gang. Found a man. Didn’t manage to keep him too long, but he came back. Picked up my life, tried to make it better, more honest. It all fell apart, but..”

“You’re still here.”

“Sure am.”

Sadie tipped her head just so, giving Abigail the brightest grin she could muster up. “See, darlin’, you’ve got plenty more to be proud of than most. Now eat your breakfast.” 

"You done burnt this bacon to a crisp, Sadie. What'd it ever do to you?"

> °

The fire crackled, filling the room with a soft, yellow glow.

Sadie knew by now which floorboards creaked and which didn't, deftly avoiding making any noise. She wouldn't chance waking Jack or the dog, who had the tendency to bark furiously at the slightest sound of an intruder. Settling more comfortably onto the sofa, she started pulling off her boots.

"Sadie?"

Her head snapped up. "Mm?"

"You sure you're alright sleepin' in here, still?"

"It's no trouble."

"It's such a big room. So airy, I'm afraid it might get awful chilly.."

"Hasn't so far."

Abigail nodded, looking away as she trailed off. "Oh," her head snapped up, "what about another blanket?"

Looking quietly about herself, Sadie shrugged. "I wouldn't mind, if you've one to spare."

While Abigail hurried off to dig out a blanket from the chest across the room, Sadie gently set aside her gunbelt and all the little baubles and bags she kept on her person. She ran a hand through her short hair, noting her sore need of a trim. 

"Here," Abigail held out the patched up wool blanket to her, "it's no beauty but it should hold you warm enough."

She took it from her hands, gently resting it on her lap as she sat back, smiling up at her. "Thank you kindly."

Silence. They watched one another, Sadie waiting curiously to see whatever was eating at Abigail to have her staring like that. She cleared her throat to encourage her.

"Don't mean to be presumptuous, Sadie- but my room's much warmer to sleep in. It's just me in there, lots of room."

"Is that an invitation?"

Abigail tipped her head to the side, smiling. Still; she seemed just the slightest bit uneasy, unsure. Sadie gave her the gentlest, warmest smile she could muster, folding her hands in her lap atop the blanket. She'd hate to rush things.

"You're too kind. I'll be sure to take you up on that another night, if the offer still stands." 

That seemed effective; Abigail nodded hurriedly, a bit flustered, a bit relieved, but ultimately happy. 

"That's alright."

"I'll see you in the mornin'." She smiled, starting to unbotton her light jacket.

"Sure. You sleep well." Abigail stepped back to the door of her room, holding the handle. 

"You too." 

That was it; they went their separate ways for the night. Sadie couldn't help but smile to herself as she changed, stripping off the clothes from the day to her lighter underlayers, crawling comfortably beneath the thick new blanket. It really was warmer than it was pretty. 

She realized with a striking clarity that she had not seen the strange silhouette in all her time on the ranch. Since the very moment she'd stepped foot on the property and laid eyes on old friends, she'd been at peace, the paranoia which had been eating at her now far away and out of mind. It hadn't come back, no matter how often she stepped out of the house and looked off into the long, endless distance, waiting for that shadowy form to lay it's eyes on her. It never came.

The fear would come back, eventually, would come and go as all her terrors did tend to do. Sadie would never be able to sleep without a gun within reach or a knife beneath the pillow, nor would she ever feel entirely safe with her back turned to a crowd. But that didn't mean the fear couldn't be eased, couldn't be nudged and persuaded into docility until it felt like little more than a nagging thought at the edge of the mind. 

Once her head hit the pillow, the quiet of nighttime settled in. She could hear the soft cooing of an owl not far off, and the rustle of the livestock laying down to sleep. The walls were rather thin, allowing her to hear the loud, steady breaths of the sleeping dog. 

From Abigail's room, she could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing, bottles and baubles jingling and clinking, the bed creaking as she stepped into it. She could hear as she fell quiet, presumably slipping off to sleep.

She felt oddly at home in that moment, so restful and at peace that she might never have left. 

Sadie fell asleep and dreamt of nothing at all.

> °

Looking out on the broad expanse of Beecher's Hope, Sadie thought on just how long the emptiness stretched out around it. She knew that realistically it wasn't so far off from the city, but from where she was sitting, it looked incredibly rural. Incredibly lonely. It reminded her of her old home, all those years ago. 

"I worry about you, y'know."

"There's no need to, I've been on my own long enough to know how to-"

She held up a defensive hand. "It ain't that I doubt how well you can handle things. You and I both know how I feel about you, Abigail, know I respect you more'n most anyone. It's that I wish there weren't so much for you to have to handle on your own."

Abigail looked dumbstruck, arguably unused to such explicit statements of care and consideration of her wellbeing. Sadie had seen how the world treated her; a nag, a throwaway, a cheap woman, all of it undeserved but all of it frequent. A mild rosy color toned her cheeks and she looked too flustered to quite know what to say, taking her sweet time to reply. 

"Ain't you sweet," was all she could conjure up at first, looking down at her hands.

They sat in silence for a moment, just looking out at Jack as he threw a ball to his dog up on the hill.

Abigail turned.

"What are you doin' here, Sadie?" 

She paused. "What you mean?" 

"I mean, why did you come all this way? To Beecher's Hope?" 

Unsure of just how truthful she should be, Sadie had to think on it for a second, wringing her hands. "I needed somewhere to be that weren't some hotel or a bedroll in the desert. Really did. And I, uh… to be honest I missed you."

"Oh."

"I-"

"I missed you too."

She smiled. "And things are different. I loved my work for a long, long time but lately, I don't know."

"Are you changin' your mind 'bout things?"

"Things?"

"Bounty hunting, I mean. How.. just, how you live." She gestured vaguely.

"How I live." Sadie chewed on that for a minute, trying to discern how she really felt. It was getting harder these days. "I live alone. Mostly. Half the time I'm alone. And- and, y'know, the world is- well, it's beautiful. It's so goddamn big you couldn't even imagine."

"I seen quite a lot in my time."

"Oh, I know, I didn't mean nothin' by that. Only it's different when it's just you. Just you, and your gun, your horse, whatever you've got in your bags. _You_ , standin' _alone_ lookin' out on a whole lotta _nothin'_. Sometimes I've caught myself on some big cliff somewhere and the sun's settin' and I can't help but feel that I'm just a little thing in a big world. Nobody to talk to, even for months on end, once or twice." She paused, breathing deeply. Slapped a hand on her thigh. "Maybe it's 'cause I'm goddamn lonely." 

"You don't have to be lonely, Sadie."

"But I am."

Abigail didn't reply to that. 

"I'm less lonesome now, of course. I don't mean to try and get your pity or nothin'; I chose this life, I knew the cost. So, yes, I suppose I'm changin'my mind."

"It sounds tough. The violence…"

"Now, Abigail, darlin', I understand what violence done to your life 'n why it's got to have such a bad taste for you. I ain't blame you. Never have, never will. But for me it weren't the problem. Hurtin' folks who need hurtin' felt like _justice-_ maybe more than some of 'em ever gonna get in those damn corrupt courtrooms. You see, you got enough money, you can get out of most anythin'."

"That's true."

"Course I don't agree with _everyone_ I'm sent to hunt down. You know what I did with Nicola Hale. Let her ass go. From where I was sittin' seemed she was just a woman slighted, made little by the world, then took up a little too much space for the comfort of those happenin' to be printin' bounty posters. Weren't my given duty to punish folks just cause the law says it's right. I don't hurt folks for _fun_. I don't shoot anybody just 'cause they were so unfortunate as to cross me whilst I was in a bad mood. I don't go out pursuin' violence less'n I'm bein' paid, and got reliable word they deserve it. I admit I was a little bit trigger happy when-"

"Can say that again-"

"I first got my hands on a gun that day near Lemoyne. But I learned now. I grew up. To put it real simply; I've got no qualms hurtin' somebody who's done wrong, who's stolen somethin' from somebody's life they just can't get back. What I _do_ got qualms with is the emptiness and the distance without a soul to talk to, and all the cold folks who write down anyone mildly deviant as worthy of huntin'."

Abigail nodded slowly. "I think I get it."

"Don't have to agree with me."

"I think I do."

"...Thank you." 

She hoped the conversation hadn't caused any detrimental harm to what Abigail thought of her but ultimately, she trusted her. This was the most trusting, forgiving, understanding woman she knew, much as most who met her may disagree. "So, yes. To answer your question. I'm changin' my mind."

"Okay."

"Still don't feel much up to household duties, can't sew for shit."

"You're a good cook."

"And that's about it. But I'll make an effort."

The tension eased away as quickly as it had come. Abigail moved to stand a bit closer.

"I get awful lonely too, you know."

"I'm sorry sweetheart."

"It don't always take the _vast expanse_ to make you feel little. Even this house feels too big sometimes, too empty. There ain't nobody in town wants to be friends with somebody like me."

"You've got Jack, at least."

She nodded urgently. "I do! I do have Jack. Don't know what I'd do without him. Still, though. It's not always easy."

"I hear you." 

They remained in relative silence for a beat, just breathing, looking out onto the ranch. Abigail was the first to speak.

Her voice was quieter, this time. "Are you gonna stay?" 

She didn't know what to say to that. 

She supposed that between her great relief from the terror that had chased her here, and the pleasant respite from it all that she'd luxuriated in, she'd somewhat forgotten to come up with any kind of plan. She lacked any intentions, any goals. Sadie was just enjoying the moment. 

Wasn't a fair way to go about things, though. She scratched the back of her neck uneasily. "Would you want me to?"

Abigail contemplated for what seemed like a split second before saying, with some urgency, "Yes. Would _you_ want to?"

She blinked. Across the years and through all disturbances, all blood or tears shed and time lost to distance, the two women always seemed to drift back, yet again, to one another. It made sense that she might be the one she stayed with, just this once. 

It was all a bit much to consider but, throwing all pretense to the wind she replied, with warm cheeks and a flustered tone, "I wouldn't mind."

They both knew that for Sadie, who was forthcoming and direct in all things except her interpersonal desires, _'I_ _wouldn't_ _mind'_ was really more of a ' _please'_. 

Abigail nodded firmly. "Good." 

Sadie wondered, then, if this was love.

If Abigail would have her, she'd give herself, it'd be no loss on her part. Give or take, win or lose, it was just good to look another person- another woman- in the eyes and know she _chose_ to love you. Because love is fleeting and silly and easy to lose. Falling in love is as easy as slipping on ice; it's almost a given, a cliche, it's a papercut or a misspoken word. 

It's the choosing that makes it different. It's _staying_ gives it meaning. 

Putting a gentle hand on Abigail's shoulder and chivalrously lowering her hat with the other, she asked, "Abigail, may I kiss you?"

"I've been waitin' two damn weeks." 

Leaning in, Sadie felt the electric current or adrenaline shoot up her spine the instant their lips met. It'd been so many years since she'd felt like this- Abigail ran her hand through her hair, pressing to her scalp with the kind of light pressure that made her feel dizzy. Sadie herself kept one hand firmly upon her waist, holding her close. 

"I'm glad you're here with me," Abigail murmured, so close their breath still mingled.

"I am too, darlin'."

Sadie couldn't help but smile when she felt Abigail lower her face to lean against her shoulder, gripping her arm. 

Though her life may not be perfect- really, may never be- it did, in this moment, all make sense. 


End file.
